Signs That There Is Still Goodness In the World
The lab, her belly swaying sensuously,
Walks ahead of you up the field path.
She never chases the cows,
Only becomes more alert around them.
Last year, her entire litter sold in a day.
Later, sorrowful herself, she’ll lay
Her smooth, weighty head on your shoulder
While you untie your shoes.
This is the world you’ll remember
Years later, the world you seek beneath
This broken one, the old, sweet world,
Like the shine in the bottom of certain
Stainless-steel bowls at certain hours
Of the afternoon, like winter sun,
Or the leaves of the dining room table
Underneath the clean linen cloth.
Consider the old radiator sloughing off
Its heavy coat of lead paint,
Having grown warm like a girl at a party.
Not even the dead bugs cupped
In the chandelier’s hand are sad.
They lie in light like senators in state.
Your grandfather feigned throwing
Punches at you you pretended to duck
In the hall. Shadowboxing, it was called.
A friend of your father’s picked you up
And laid you long along his forearm.
You slept like the literal baby you were.
I don’t know what I’m saying except that
The old world hasn’t passed away,
It’s just been subsumed under this one.
It’s there, like the underside
Of a windrow that hasn’t been turned,
Still damp and green and private.
It’s why you and the dog walked up
Here, to touch something that still
Has a ways to go before it turns gold.